Beyond All Dizzy-Minded Observations
She knew, quite inevitably,
Where all gossips are coming from
All those educated guesses of
All dizzy-minded observations,
Those could be true enough,
Also, to be candid.
And that every man
could be hiding a darker phase
A meticulous, yet, the easy-going soul like he is.
He was not a man of too many words
He loved to recite poems of love...
She loved to listen to her faith talking in him.
He is a kind that
She will not venture to awake,
Still, she is an enthusiastic believer in his goodness,
And that God’s virtue that touches all, touches him too.
With this utterly fragile thread, she is sure where she stands.
Still, she is destined to submerge in her tranquil lake of faith.
All she knew that he is a subject
Of her tremendous passion
Her pen and paper, her pouring words
That turns every silence into Lord’s praise in her mind
Every coldness into an effort to start anew, in her prayers
Those are striving to save tirelessly
The very soul of that man she hopes she knows
To bring him in brighter light under the sun
For a fabulous portrait, sketched on the blank page.
All those efforts knew that in his secret hideout
There is love somewhere, deep down inside
Not to be expressed, not to be talked aloud
All is going well, and all will end well soon
Maybe on a page of a fairy tale book
Maybe in the artistic content of a poem.
Or, maybe in a ruthless tragedy of things not-to-be.
A hypothesis of tragedy is not for her, not yet, not till now.
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